Page 63 of Coldhearted King

Tonight isn’t supposed to be about getting to know each other, though. It’s about one thing and one thing only. The less we share regarding our private lives, the easier it will be for her to keep that straight in her mind.

We ride the rest of the way in silence. My penthouse isn’t far from the office, and I’m glad because I’m itching to strip her out of that outfit and finish what I started in her office this afternoon.

When we pull up outside my building and Jonathan opens the door for Delilah, she steps out gracefully and stops to look up at the building, then to the trees of Central Park looming on the other side of the street.

Her gaze meets mine. “I knew you were rich, but...” She glances away again, up at the huge steel-and-glass building that reaches skyward. “Sometimes reality outstrips imagination.”

I picture this through her eyes. From what she’s told me, her mom struggled to give her the things she needed, to keep a safe, comfortable roof over their heads, and now I’m about to take her up to my multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment that I purchased without a second thought.

I’m not ashamed of my wealth—why would I be?—and yet I feel something right now I’ve never felt before. Not shame, but maybe the wish that someone had been there to help support her mom and her when she was growing up.

Someone like her father.

I’m hit by the urge to find out who he is and what he does, to learn if there’s any way I can make his life just a little harder. I make a mental note to get Samson to look into it tomorrow. It won’t hurt to find out his name and see what business he’s in.

The doorman has been watching us keenly, waiting to leap into action, so I start toward him. I’ve only taken a couple of steps before I realize Delilah isn’t next to me. She’s looking across at Central Park again, a faint smile on her face as she watches a couple walk past, arm in arm, heads tipped together as they laugh at something.

I reach back and grab her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Her focus switches from the couple to where our hands are connected, then up to my face. The curve lingering on her lips and the way her fingers curl around mine send a strange pulse of warmth through me.

I clear my throat. “Let’s go,” I say, brusquely.

As expected, the doorman jumps forward, opening the door and tipping his hat at us. “Good evening, sir, ma’am.”

I give him a nod. “Good evening, Jeffrey.”

“Hello.” Delilah gives him a smile that has his grizzled cheeks reddening.

I grumble to myself and tug her after me.

We ride up to my penthouse in my private elevator, and when the doors open directly onto my foyer, I hear her indrawn breath. It’s only when I lead her out that I realize I’m still holding her hand.

I use the excuse of shrugging out of my suit jacket to let go of her, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The foyer opens directly onto the open-plan living area, and she’s focused on the view over the park and the glitter of the city skyline, both visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the room.

“I can’t believe you get to look at this view every day,” she says.

I stand next to her. “You get used to it after a while.”

She tips her head up to me. “That’s a shame.” When I don’t respond, she walks past me and her mouth drops open. “Oh my god.”

The main living room is huge, sleek, and modern, with high ceilings, hardwood floors, and expensive art hanging on the walls. The kitchen is visible at the other end of the room. It’s a spotless white, with state-of-the art appliances that never get used because cooking isn’t one of my skills.

Delilah turns to me. “Your home is beautiful, Cole.”

“Then my interior designer earned her pay.” I don’t bother to mention that this place has never felt that much like a home. But then, I’m not sure if any place I’ve lived in has felt that way.

Delilah rolls her eyes at me, then laughs softly. The sound does things to me that are anything but soft.

I reach for her, pull her close and drop my head so my lips brush the curve of her neck and I can breathe her in. My already hardening cock swells even more at the feel of her against me.

I don’t want to talk about my apartment. Or her family. I definitely don’t want to talk aboutmyfamily. I just want this. Her body and mine. Together.

And I’m not waiting another minute.

* * *

I tiea knot in the condom and drop it into the trash. As I turn to leave the bathroom, I glimpse myself in the mirror. A fine sheen of perspiration coats my body, and the satisfied gleam in my eyes has everything to do with the orgasms I’ve had over the last two hours. And even more, the ones I’ve given Delilah.

Although I came only a few minutes ago, the thought of her lying stretched out and naked in my bed has me hardening.

---